Sparrow, my sweet girl?s delight, 
whom she plays with, holds to her breast, 
whom, greedy, she gives her little finger to, 
often provoking you to a sharp bite, 
whenever my shining desire wishes 
to play with something she loves, 
I suppose, while strong passion abates, 
it might be a small relief from her pain: 
might I toy with you as she does 
and ease the cares of a sad mind